


Solace for the Soul

by lha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Music, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10980243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lha/pseuds/lha
Summary: Sometimes, music can provide a solace that little else can.  Two people who have shared much over the years have also shared this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn 1971

Severus spent a lot of time wandering the halls in his first few weeks at Hogwarts.  He found the atmosphere of the Slytherin common room oppressive and while he wanted desperately to be friends with his new classmates, their interactions were stilted and awkward.  He knew that his half-blood status worked against him but he couldn’t deny the absolute thrill that ran through him every time he realised that he was really here, somewhere where magic was not the source of disagreements and distaste but was something to be celebrated and improved.  Despite this, he found himself missing strange things, Muggle things.

So, when he heard a familiar tune echoing down a hallway early one Sunday morning he followed the sound.  His father had never been a church goer so his exposure to religion and religious music had been limited to school.  He didn’t feel particularly strongly about the idea of God but what he had enjoyed was the feeling inside the building, the cool and the hush inside the church they had visited twice a year had felt special, mystical almost.  The music reminded him of the feeling, the way it seemed to come from way-off and echoed softly off the stones.  Drawn along, he followed the notes down hallways and up staircases until he found a corridor with a series of doors along one side.  Pressing his ear up against them in turn he found where the sound was coming from.  There was no keyhole in the door which defeated his first instinct, to try and see inside.  He could try and open the door, just a crack, but the risk associated with that was too high and he wasn’t sure what he would achieve anyway.  So instead, he decided simply to linger outside. 

The late summer sunshine spilled through the leaded windows and warming the stone.  Severus slid down the wall and sat, knees bent and arms wrapped around his legs, simply enjoying the music.  Idly, he told himself that he would hear when the playing stopped and he could get up and leave, or at least pretend that he’d only been passing through.  It turned out that this was wrong however, for he’d slipped too far into his own head practicing the list of potions ingredients that he was intent on remembering.

“Good morning, Mr Snape,” the voice of Professor McGonagall was warm but not exactly friendly, “are all the other practice rooms in use?”

“I…” he stuttered, pushing himself back to his feet.  “I’m not sure.  I just heard…”  The Deputy Headmistress frowned at this.

“You heard?  The silencing charm must have failed, I’ll have to get that renewed…” McGonagall trailed off, turning to look at the door for a moment before turning to look back at him.  “Do you play an instrument?”  Her gaze felt heavy on him and Severus couldn’t do more than shake his head.  “Hmm… Well, you had better be getting along then Mr Snape, you wouldn’t want to miss breakfast.”

“Yes Professor,” he said, gladly taking the exit she’d offered him and turning on his heel to head down the corridor as quickly as he could.

When he arrived for his next Transfiguration lesson, Severus had a momentary panic that McGonagall might somehow treat him differently.  These were unfounded as she was as demanding as ever, and made no reference at all to their previous encounter.  The following weekend however, he once again found himself drifting through the hallways, waiting for the library to open and with no particular destination in mind.  Despite his lack of intent, he realised that he’d made his way back into the same corridor as the previous Sunday, and felt a wave of… something he couldn’t quite name, as he realised that he could hear the piano again.  He took up the same spot, sitting on the floor and simply listening. 

“Time for breakfast, Mr Snape.”  Was all that McGonagall said when she opened the door this time. 

Over the years, he must have spent countless hours in that corridor, always early on a Sunday morning when there was no one else around.  When he’d returned for his second year, a small velvet couch had been placed in his spot and then, when things had seemed particularly dark in the shadow of the whomping willow incident, when sleep had been impossible to find, he’d found himself there and been remarkably unsurprised to hear music coming from within.  He’d curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped himself in the tartan traveling rug that had been draped across the arm of the couch and for the first time in days had drifted into sleep.  Hours later, a gentle hand on his shoulder had woken him;

“Time for breakfast, Mr Snape,” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas 1981

Severus couldn’t settle.  He felt overcome with lethargy but trapped all the same.  He didn’t want to have to face anyone but he wanted nothing more than to leave his rooms.  Dumbledore hadn’t confined him to the school grounds in so many words but he had made it clear that it would be in Severus’ best interest if he was to lay low both inside the castle and in the outside world.  The knock on his door made Severus start, and he realised that dusk had fallen and the fire he had been staring into was nothing more than embers. 

“Who is it?” he asked, wand gripped in his hand.

“Father Christmas,” came the dry reply, the clipped Scottish brogue easily recognisable.  He opened the door, standing defensively in the gap. 

“What can I do for you Professor McGonagall?” he asked perfunctorily. 

“Minerva,” she corrected him, as she had each and every time he’d used her title since Dumbledore had summoned her to his office the previous week.  “Put your coat on Severus,” she continued, “Do you own a muggle coat?”  she added after a moment. 

“Wha…?  Why?” he asked. 

“We’re going out.”

“Where?”

“You’ll find out.  Now, do you have an appropriate outer garment or shall I…?” she asked, lifting her wand and gesturing vaguely presumably in an offer to transfigure something. 

“Muggle?” he asked after a moment.  Minerva nodded briskly, leaning up against the door jam and folding her arms, as though daring him to close the door in her face. 

“And hurry up,” she called at his retreating back, “we don’t want to be late.” 

He’d gone with her, mostly because he quite liked the idea of someone else being in charge.  For some reason he found her presence, even when she was haranguing him, to be far less demanding than anyone else.  He’d almost balked when she’d taken his arm to guide him to an apparition destination, and again when he realised where it was that she was leading him. 

“I…” he stuttered, stopping at the bottom of the church steps.  “I don’t know what you might have read into…  I don’t believe.”

“Severus, this is Nine Lessons and Carols not your baptism.  No one’s expecting a confession of faith,” her tone was as dry as ever, but she wasn’t mocking him.  Despite her reassurance, he couldn’t bring himself to relax though and after a moment she released her hold on his arm, but didn’t look away from his face.  “This is something I always do, Severus.  It is something I take for myself because being here, being part of this ritual brings me comfort.  I thought you might find some solace in it too but I certainly won’t force you.”   

It had taken him a moment, but eventually he’d nodded abruptly and then allowed Minerva to lead him into the cool building.  He’d taken the folded paper from the stranger at the door, recognising the words they contained though it had been years since he’d last seen them, then followed Minerva as she’d slid into a wooden pew.  Despite his initial hesitation, he found himself relaxing in the subdued atmosphere.  The candlelight was dim enough that he didn’t feel exposed and, when the service began, the music seemed to… he couldn’t put it into words.  He had been so absorbed in the voices of the choir, he’d been taken aback when everyone around him stood but he followed suit and after a gentle elbow in the ribs from Minerva, had begun to sing. 

“You have a lovely voice,” Minerva said later as they’d sat in a local pub, both nursing mugs of mulled wine. 

“They should have added another clove.”  She let it slide.  The next year the mulled wine was better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer 1985

Severus didn’t know what to do.  This wasn’t particularly unusual, the problem was that the person he often turned to for advice these days was, well, broken.  They hadn’t spoken much about her engagement or marriage but he had seen the change in her; she had been happy and if anyone deserved a little of that then Severus was certain it was Minerva.  Life did not work that way, he should have known better and he almost felt angry that he too had had bought in to the idea that they deserved this.  He had spoken to her since she’d found her husband dead in his green house, but it was like she was removed somehow from the rest of the world.  If it had been term time then he might not have been so concerned, but he didn’t like the idea that she could cut herself off, avoid them all.  Severus knew that there would be others gathered round, fawning and caring in a way that was not natural to him, yet, when he’d seen her at the funeral, she had gripped his hand; clasped his arm as though he were the lifeline out of the stormy sea she was trapped in. 

And so, several days later, he found himself standing on the doorstep of the cottage that he had been invited into several times before.  He knocked on the door, and for several moments thought that there would be no response.  Eventually though, the door opened a crack, just enough for him to see the pale, drawn face on the other side. 

“Fetch your coat Minerva,” he said calmly.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her hackles obviously rising.  He’d take that. 

“You should bring a coat.  It’ll be cool by the time we’re coming back.” 

“Back? From where?”

“You’ll find out.  Now, we don’t want to be late.”  She was studying him carefully.  Severus eased forward so that he was leaning against the door jamb so that Minerva couldn’t close the door in his face.  After a moment, she turned and disappeared back into the dim hallway. 

“Muggle?”

“Yes.” When she returned, she looked as composed as ever and perfectly turned out. 

The wards felt odd when Severus and Minerva stepped through them; they’d have fallen when Elphinstone had died and now they felt like Albus, who had undoubtedly recast the protections over their friend’s home.  Minerva shuddered at their touch and looked vaguely nauseous.  He squeezed her arm gently before he whisked her away.  The destination was further than he’d originally thought, but he’d wanted to find the right thing.  They’d been to several concerts over the years, he felt he knew what she would enjoy under normal circumstances, but today he was trusting mostly to instinct.  Minerva was abnormally quiet, the silent was not oppressive but it came with a melancholy that weighed heavily on him.  The lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play.  He couldn’t be certain when she began to cry but he felt her reach for his hand in the dark, her fingers trembling. 

 What Severus was expecting he wasn’t sure, but he hoped that the tears would prove a catharsis of some sort.  He would not mention them; wouldn’t ask the questions that were burning in his throat, wouldn’t mention how tired and frail she looked or how much he wished that she would let someone stay with her or how very, very sorry he was.  He would not say these things but he’d sit with her in the dark and cry with her as Mozart carried them through.  He would make sure she got home safely, would try and make sure she ate and then dose her with the vial of dreamless sleep whose weight was heavy in his pocket.  He would do these things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer 1986

“It’s Albus’ 105th birthday Severus, we were all rather distracted when he turned one-hundred so surely you’d like to help mark this occasion!” she said vehemently.  Distracted was hardly the world for that final summer before the end of the war. 

“I’ll be sure to send him a card.  And a hangover cure for the morning after.”

“Severus,” Minerva began, as though she were about to continue on the same tac, but then she sighed, “very well then.”  She sat back down on the piano stool with an air of defeat.  It was so unlike her to give up so easily that Severus was immediately on edge. 

“Well?!” he asked after a couple of minutes. 

“Well what?” she asked airily. 

“Minerva McGonagall, you have never given up on getting me to do anything that easily.”  He could see her mouth twitching and her eyes sparkling. 

“I resent your implication,” she said before her face became far more serious than he had expected, “I..” she hesitated, “Severus, you have a beautiful voice and I feel privileged that you’ve chosen to share it with me,” Minerva’s own voice cracked, “I genuinely believe that Albus would take a great deal from it too, and from the gesture, but I would never, I will never force you to share this small joy.”  And with that she stood, lowering the lid of the piano and turned away from him to sort through her sheet music.  At least that was what she was pretending to do but Severus suspected that wasn’t the reason she was hiding her face. 

“Minerva?” he said, tentatively reaching over to place a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine.  I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s got into me,” she said abruptly. 

“No, I…” Severus pursed his lips, “not at the party.” 

“Well naturally not,” she said quietly turning around to face him, “I thought I could invite him to afternoon tea.”

“He’d like that,” Severus agreed.  A few years ago, he would have suspected her of having manipulated him into agreeing to this but now…  It wasn’t that she was incapable, she could be as devious and wily as any Slytherin, but he did trust her not to resort to such tactics about things she thought important.  It touched him, more than her generous compliment on his singing, that she thought that this mattered.  That the time they spent in this room was somehow special to her as well.  He chose not to dwell on this for fear of exposing himself to more sentimentality than he could tolerate.

“Come on,” Minerva said, seeming to have pulled herself back together, “let’s walk down to the Three Broomsticks and I’ll stand you a butterbeer. 

“Make it Cloisters and an ale and I’m in,” he said, referring to their favourite muggle haunt. 

“Done.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas 1997

Minerva had vacillated for days over whether to leave the school this evening.  It was a self-indulgent act that was perhaps foolish on more levels and for more people than even she understood.  Even an hour ago she had decided not to go, but both Poppy and Filius, who were more than aware of the tradition, had all but forced her out the castle door.  It was December, but there was no cheer in Hogwarts, the only relief the season had brought was that the students had returned home for a few weeks.  Home where the Carrows could not hurt them, though doubtless other things might.  Her thoughts turned back to those who had stayed though and she felt another stab of guilt for abandoning them.  She was their last line of protection these days and more than her share of curses had licked her skin this term.  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the others, but they were her charges, they were all under her care as Deputy. 

It was cold this year, something she often relished in the run up to Christmas, but she knew that the mist hanging in the streets of Edinburgh was no normal harr.  She shuddered, there were undoubtedly dementors in the vicinity but she couldn’t honestly attribute the ache in her breast down to that.  She climbed the stone steps into the church quickly, stepping into the hush and trying to conjure a pleasant smile when she was handed an order of service.  This wasn’t her father’s church where she had learnt to play the piano for the Sunday school and then choir practices and whatever else was needed, it wasn’t even particularly like the kirk she’d spent so much of her childhood in and around.  Yet, she had a usual spot and felt a certain relief at being able to claim it.

Someone slid into the pew next to her.  Minerva didn’t turn, couldn’t bring herself to look, but she didn’t need to.  She knew it was him.  Here in this church where she came to sit, to listen and to sing, where she had brought a brittle young man who had made decisions and done things she could barely bring herself to think about.   Where she had brought him in the hope that he would find some solace.  Here, they were brought together again on this Christmas Eve.

Albus had not trusted her with the truth, or at least he had left out a great deal, and she was not naïve enough that she failed to recognise that.  Ignorance had never lain well with her however and understanding the reasons why she was being kept in that state did not always help.  She was however, not a stupid woman.  First with the arrival of Harry Potter and then the eventual beginning of the second war, both men had changed.  While Albus withdrew meaningful conversation from her, Severus had descended into new depths of sullenness and angry silence.  The younger man has never been exactly pleasant, he was not a natural teacher and he seemed to struggle with her lions more than any but Minerva could see the suffering beneath it all.  It broke her heart to see him retreat back into his shell, to the young boy who had arrived at the school, and the young man who had returned. 

When Albus was forced out and then, had started to vanish for days at a time out of choice, she had been concerned, naturally.  It was Severus’ absences from the school however that turned her stomach and it was on nights when she knew he had been called that she couldn’t sleep.  It was on those nights that she found herself back in the rehearsal rooms and when she once again lowered the sound proofing charms in the hope that he would somehow hear the music and be drawn back.  He never joined her, that was something he’d not done in years now, but the small setae that she had once placed in the hall and had over time, moved away from the door of her preferred room, drifted back.  And then, when it had finally happened, she had been shocked and appalled but not really surprised.

The following months had been truly terrible, and when the new school year began, Minerva found herself so wracked with anxiety that Poppy had threatened to sedate her more than once.  But through it all she could not bring herself to abandon her faith in Severus entirely.  She could see the incidents where punishments could have been much worse, could see that there were restrictions being forced upon the Carrows.  Little did that make the reality any better.  She spent hours, hours at a time in the Gryffindor Common Room trying to provide some reassurance to her students and often crept back in her feline form when she couldn’t sleep.  Sometimes though, she returned to the practice room, closed the door, lowered the sound containment and played.  She saw no sign of Severus even in the early hours of a Sunday morning.

The man next to her stood when the congregation rose to sing, but he made no noise, the resonating bass did not sound.  Instead she was overwhelmingly aware of the tension radiating from his form.  When they sat back down, she reached across and wrapped a hand around the clenched first resting on his knee.  It was only moments later, that she realised that there were tears seeping off the planes of his face and into his lap.  The next time she touched him he was dead and she was the one who could find no words. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer 1998

Severus came to awareness gradually.  He felt like he’d been asleep for a long time, as though he was waking naturally from a restful night.  It was a sensation that seemed somehow alien to him but the lingering contentment chased off that concern. 

“Severus, my boy,” Dumbeldore’s voice was gentle, as though he was not certain that Severus was awake.  There was another niggle this time, a stronger notion that he really didn’t want to see the Headmaster, “Come now Severus.”    He peeled his eyes open, blinking and trying to allow his surroundings to settle in.

“Where…?” he asked.

“You’re in your portrait Severus, in the Head’s office.” Severus looked out at the familiar room and it was as though someone had opened a door on his memories.  He had spent so many unhappy hours in this place but while the memories returned it seemed to him as though he were shielded from them.  Turning around, he looked past the portrait Dumbledore to look at the setting of his own frame.  He’d been painted in his lab and he was immediately grateful to whoever had made that decision and had a suspicion that he knew who it had been.  This was followed however, by a horrible, horrible thought as the context of his death came back to him.

“Minerva?” he asked, suddenly glancing around the Head’s office for some indication of it’s owner.

“She’s fine.  We won, my boy, we won.  The losses were great but we won the battle.  Harry…”

“Allowed himself to be slaughtered?” he asked, the bile rising up within him again. 

“No!  No Severus!  The boy lived,” 

“Well done to Potter then, for that certainly wasn’t any part of your plan.” 

“Perhaps,” Minerva’s voice spoke from the door through to her quarters, “you might like to visit your portrait at the Ministry Albus?”  Her tone was shorter than he might have expected and Dumbledore opened his mouth as though he was about to protest but did after a moment close it again and offered the headmistress a tight nod.

“Severus,” he said in farewell before he turned and walked out of the side of the frame. 

“There are days,” Minerva said wearily, “when I wish I could remove his canvas from these walls.”

“I… I did not always enjoy his company that last year,” Severus said cautiously, “but he did at least know what… he understood at least a little of what I was going through.” 

“It wasn’t only Albus who had at least a notion.”

“I often wondered.  I think I knew really, that you at least suspected.”

“It’s an awful way to live; shrouded by hints and inklings of things that may or may not be.  I…” she swallowed thickly looking away from his frame.  “…I wish I had been able to do more…”

“You did more than I could have asked for, Minerva,” he said quietly, wishing desperately that he could reach out and touch her.  “There were nights…”  Even in this state, when the memories seemed almost as though they belonged to someone else, distanced, it was hard to put into words the desolation that had filled him. 

Severus had felt as though his steps had been dogged by his own personal dementor for so long that it had been so very hard to find any trace of humanity left inside him.  He’d ended up in the church on Christmas Eve only because he really hadn’t been able to think of anything else he could do and inside that safe space, he had wept in a way he had no longer thought himself capable of.  As it had on that Sunday morning all those years ago, there was something in the music that spoke to him.  He knew she must have been lifting the silencing charm on her practice room, as he had realised in hindsight she must have when he had been a student, and that small welcoming action had been enough to keep him going.

“It was little enough in the scheme of things,” she murmured.  She looked older, he realised and more fragile than he remembered but he’d barely allowed himself to look at her in so long that he couldn’t be sure whether it had been Dumbeldore’s death or the events that followed that had caused it.  “I…” she continued, still focussing her gaze down on her desk, “I thought that you would be most comfortable in a laboratory.  I asked Horace to check the stores would be adequate.” 

“And I thank you for it. 

“There’s…” she hesitated again.  “I’ve hung a new picture in the music hall as well.  I wasn’t sure how easy you would find it to be here, in this room.”   Severus opened his mouth to respond but he could find no words.  No one had ever shown the same quiet care for him that this woman had, even in death.  She offered him a tight, wet-eyed smile and walked across the room to a gramophone.  She lifted the arm, lowered it gently and let the Brahms Requiem fill the room. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed - thanks for reading and please do let me know you're thoughts!  
> Lx


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